Near Death
by x.imagine.x
Summary: "He sits in the same place for what feels like hours, staring at nothing. It's beginning to sink in exactly how close he came to dying today..." Takes place after the end of 2.03 'Clean Hands'. a bit of Sam/Jules


**A/N: Alright, so this has been bugging me since last week, and I really just had to write it out and get it out of my head. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from Flashpoint………… I lay no claim to it.**

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**Near Death**

He sits in the same place for what feels like hours, staring at nothing. It's just beginning to sink in exactly how close he came to dying today. He was held hostage by a grieving father who was fully prepared to blow him up. He almost died.

It may have been minutes or hours later when the Sarge comes back into the room and tells him to go home. He barely processes his movements as he rises and makes his way to the door, barely feels the hand clasp his shoulder in empty comfort. He can't seem to capture one particular thought for long, his mind is too jumbled. All he can think about is that he was taken hostage. He was almost blown up. He almost died.

He looks at his car, but walks by it. He doesn't know where he is going, but he knows that he doesn't want to drive. He wants to feel the wind in his face and the cold air surrounding him. He shoves his hands deep inside the pockets of his jeans and turns left from the parking lot, feeling the wind cutting into his bare arms.

He's not sure how long he's been walking when he feels a drop of water on his head. He doesn't run for cover as rain starts pouring down, like others on the street do.

He's heard that a near death experience can change your entire perspective on life, but he never thought it was true. In his mind, it was just some bullshit made up by people who wanted attention. He wasn't prepared to actually feel that way right now. Because right now, Sam Braddock finds himself analyzing his life, and wondering what exactly it all means. He hasn't done a whole lot to be proud of as of late. He got his partner shot and revealed his relationship with said partner at the same time, probably ruining both of their careers by breaking about fifty department rules. He then shot and killed a man.

Nope, not much to be proud of there. Nothing that would grant him entrance into Heaven if he had died. Not that he believes in Heaven. He's not really sure what he believes in anymore. He used to have a pretty good idea that the world was exactly as it appeared and once you died you just… floated and… stopped…. existing…. A pretty lame theory by any account, but it gave him peace of mind. At least he has a theory. Unlike Jules. She doesn't know, nor does she have any desire to. Anyway, he's not even sure he believes in his own theory anymore, so maybe he shouldn't be talking. Maybe there is a Heaven, and a Hell. Maybe there is a God and angels and Satan and demons and all that stuff everyone keeps talking about. Maybe there is a purpose for everyone.

The only problem is that he doesn't know what his purpose is. Is it really just to shoot people?

No, he helps some people. In order to help, he has to hurt. He's never looked at the job that way before. Makes it seem kind of pointless, in a way. If they're helping people, why are so many people killed? It makes him wonder if it's really worth it. With all the death, it's a wonder nobody's questioned this before. The amount of people that die has got to match the amount of people that live through those tragic events. And when they do live through them, they're never the same anyways. Just ask him.

Sam looks up through the hair that is now plastered on his forehead thanks to the rain to see a place he hadn't expected to be, but had somehow known all along that it was where he would end up.

As he walks through the sliding doors, the smell overtakes him. He always hated hospitals; they all smell the same, like too much disinfectant. It reminds him of when he was a kid, and his dad would go out to bars wearing way too much cologne, just to pick up chicks that were drunk off their asses and have meaningless sex before dumping them in some sleazy motel room and coming home and drowning Sam's nostrils in a mixture of way too much perfume, way too much cologne, and way too much alcohol. He hated living with his father, and was almost euphoric when his mother came back and took him in to live with her.

Those nights are what caused Sam to be exactly as he is now. He vowed not to be like his father. He vowed to make a life for himself, to find the woman he loved and stay faithful to her. He wouldn't smirk at his son in the mirror as he pulled on a revolting shirt and caked on the cologne before walking out the door, finally stumbling back in at some ungodly hour of the morning. No, Sam vowed that his life would have a greater meaning. Sam Braddock would help people.

But he isn't helping everyone. He can't help everyone. He killed someone. Of course he's killed people before, but there is something different about this one. He actually wanted to do it. He's ashamed to admit that his finger pulled that trigger and he felt good about it. He wanted to kill that man; for Jules, and for Ed.

He definitely wouldn't have gone to heaven. Had he died today, he knew that if there was a Hell, that's where he'd be, because of this damn job that's supposed to help people.

He presses the elevator button automatically. It's way past visiting hours, but nobody seems to care. They've seen him around enough to know he isn't there to blow the place up…

It's strange how he uses that situation. Maybe it's just because that's what's on his mind right now. Maybe, if he'd had a gun held to his head, he would have not been there to shoot the place up.

The elevator dings and the doors open and he steps inside. He's starting to shiver from the cold, wet T-shirt and jeans that are clinging to him, but it barely registers. He watches the numbers light up one by one until it gets to the floor he wants. The doors slide open again after what seems to be an eternity, and he steps out into the hallway.

The nurse at the desk doesn't say anything to him, just watches as he walks toward the room. They've seen each other so often, he's pretty sure they should be on a first name basis.

He silently opens the door and slips inside, unnoticed by the person occupying the room's only bed. As he closes the door, Sam is mesmerized by the soft, steady rising and falling of Jules's chest as she sleeps, and for a moment, his mind goes completely blank. He doesn't think about Jaeger, the shot, Walter Volcek, or the pipe bomb. He doesn't think about the team possibly shooting him to get to Volcek, and he doesn't think about what might have happened if he had died. He savours the few moments he has of peace before everything comes rushing back and he can feel his legs giving out underneath him in exhaustion. He barely makes it to the chair beside the bed before he collapses into it. Another thing he never believed: near death experiences wipe you of most of your strength.

It crosses his mind that, if he had died today, he wouldn't get to stand here like this. He wouldn't get to look at her ever again. For the first time tonight, he finds that he is glad he didn't die. Of course he was relieved when Spike found an alternative method to take care of Volcek rather than shoot him and get them blown up, but right now is the first time when Sam has been thankful that he's alive. If he didn't have her, he isn't so sure he would have objected to dying.

He reaches hesitantly to take her hand, and as his fingers touch hers, she stirs and he pulls back immediately, hoping she will go back to sleep and not wake up to see him like this, because he's sure he looks like shit.

He doesn't get his way, and her eyes flicker open slowly. She whispers his name questioningly, and he responds just as quietly, his voice hoarse and cracked, although he isn't sure why. She recognizes something in his voice and is fully awake in seconds. Taking in his appearance, her concern only deepens, and she won't let him just brush it off.

As he reluctantly skims over the days events, he watches as her eyes widen. He falls silent after a few minutes and plays with her fingers, staring at the pattern of the blanket.

He's glad when she doesn't say anything in response. The silence is more comforting than empty words or meaningless gestures. And so they sit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

The nurse from the desk comes in fifteen minutes later and sees Sam asleep in the chair, his head leaning against his and Jules's joined hands. He looks extremely uncomfortable, but she doesn't say anything as she drapes the blanket she brought with her over his shoulders and nods at Jules, who is soothingly stroking Sam's now damp hair with her other hand.

As Jules gazes down at the man now sleeping peacefully beside her, she realizes just how close she came to losing him today, and the only thing she can think about is how glad she is that she didn't.

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**A/N: So what did you think? **

**It started out that I was going to write the dialog of Jules and Sam, but as I wrote it, I found that I really didn't want to add any dialog. **

**Do you think it would have been any better or worse if I had added it?**


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